


Strangers

by insertfandomjoke



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, five times one time, goldsworth & tinsley are fake names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 21:31:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13935822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insertfandomjoke/pseuds/insertfandomjoke
Summary: "We're not lovers," C. C. gasps out between moans. Ricky detaches himself from his neck to look up at the detective. "We're just strangers. Got it?""Strangers with benefits," the criminal suggests, the ever-infuriating smirk present on his face.C. C. nods. "Strangers with benefits."-Or in which a notorious criminal finds himself falling for a detective through a series of hook-ups.





	Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title: Five Times Two Rivals Hook-Up and One Time They're Actually Honest
> 
> Song: 'Strangers' by Halsey

The first time it happens, it’s an accident. Well, more of an impromptu get-away plan. In hindsight, it’s the worst idea of Ricky Goldsworth’s to date.

He’s in the middle of a meeting (read: deal) with one of his customers (read: corrupt politician) when a tall, lanky man dressed in a trench coat topped off with a ridiculous fedora bursts into the room, pointing a gun at Ricky. His client shoves Ricky towards the intruder and makes his escape. The criminal makes a mental note to give him a slow and painful death later on. Maybe he’ll even let Francesca torture him. She’d love that.

“Ricky Goldsworth, put your hands where I can see them!” the man orders.

Ricky does with a twinge of annoyance. He could’ve gotten a lot of money from that deal, and this random comes in and ruins everything.

The man moves forward and handcuffs Ricky, which takes him by surprise.

“Who do you think you are?” he barks, struggling against him.

“C. C. Tinsley, Private Investigator,” C. C. says with a flourish of pride as he steps back.

“What crime novel did you get that name out of?” Ricky spits, scowling openly. “Also, you can’t arrest me! You’re not an officer!”

“I just did,” C. C. shrugs, but Ricky can see his eyebrows creasing. “Now come with me so I can hand you over to the cops.”

“Oh yeah? And what are you going to tell the police? That you illegally restrained a citizen? I’m sure that’ll look good for your P.I. business.”

C. C. frowns. “I didn’t think of that,” he mutters.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Ricky replies. “Now get me out of these fucking handcuffs before we both get in trouble!”

He doesn’t think Tinsley will actually obey, but after a few moments of hesitation, he hears the clink of his handcuffs being released.

Ricky rubs his wrists as he turns around to consider C. C. He’s much taller than Ricky originally thought, and he’s pissed off to find that the detective towers over him. He’s tempted to shoot him then and there, but Tinsley speaks before he can do anything.

“I have 911 on speed-dial,” he warns. Ricky moves his hand away from his concealed gun.

“Relax, big guy. I wasn’t going to do anything.” He hopes his lie isn’t obvious.

C. C. shoots him a grin, as if he’s just told the funniest joke he’s ever heard. “Well, then I suppose you won’t give me any trouble when I hand you over.”

Ricky scoffs. “You suppose, do you? What if I want to give you trouble?” He steps closer and relishes in the way C. C. swallows.

“I don’t think a man as short as yourself would be capable of trouble. Then again, apparently you’re a crime lord.” Tinsley’s voice is quieter now, and Ricky moves closer still. C. C. lets him place a firm hand on the back of his neck. He doesn’t move, even though he can feel Ricky’s breath now.

“Apparently,” Ricky huffs before he yanks Tinsley’s neck down.

-

Ricky wakes up to an empty bed and a sense of satisfaction. He gathers his clothes from around the room and gets dressed. He finds C. C.’s fedora too, and considers burning it along with his unsigned contract, but instead he puts it on his head. He leaves the hotel room in its messy state, not bothering to remove his trace like he usually would, as a tribute to his conquest of C. C.

Ricky calls his hitmen to tell them to forget about the Private Investigator and he assures them that he’s sorted everything out. Francesca, who he’s known and loved as a sister since they were both placed in the same orphanage, teases him when he tells her this. Ricky ignores her.

A few towns over, C. C. watches his carefully compiled files on Ricky Goldsworth act as kindling for the fire roaring in front of him. He calls his client and tells him that Ricky escaped his grasps, spinning a tale of a heavily guarded and untouchable criminal. He stares at the reflection of himself in his window, fingertips pressed into the dark marks on his neck. He sighs before he goes onto his next case.

-

A few months later, they meet again.

Ricky is… entangled in business with a certain client of his. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), she’s also the wife of _C. C.’s_ client.

He bursts in just as she’s tilting her head back for Ricky, one of her dress straps hanging off her shoulder.

The woman flies off Ricky and fixes her attire, blushing furiously.

C. C. just stares at Ricky. He doesn’t even stop the cheating wife from brushing past him as she leaves.

The back of Ricky’s neck heats up under the carefully unemotional gaze of C. C.

“You know, you really need to stop barging into places like that, Tinsley. It’s bad for business.” He forces his mouth into a smirk as an unexpected shame curls around his stomach.

C. C. doesn’t say anything as he moves closer, silent. Ricky’s grin widens as he leans in to claim his prey.

-

“We’re not lovers,” C. C. gasps out between moans. Ricky detaches himself from his neck to look up at the detective. “We’re just strangers. Got it?”

“Strangers with benefits,” the criminal suggests, the ever-infuriating smirk present on his face.

C. C. nods. “Strangers with benefits.”

-

The third time they meet is on one of Ricky’s days off. He flies over to West Virginia. One of his informants has told him that a nosy Private Investigator is poking around a kidnapping orchestrated by one of Ricky’s subordinates. Ricky gives Francesca orders to kill the kidnapper, because his one rule is that he _doesn’t touch the kids_.

He ignores her grin when he tells her where he’s going. He also ignores her telling him that it’d be easier for someone else to kill Tinsley.

He finds C. C. outside of a mostly-burnt house and drags him to the nearest hotel. On the way, he explains what happened and gives C. C. the whereabouts of the missing children. Once inside, they’re tugging off each other’s clothes.

“Be careful, Goldsworth,” C. C. cautions. “If you keep going down this path of helping the good guys, you may turn out to be a decent person.”

“Never,” Ricky smirks, “but if we both keep mysteriously meeting like this –“

“You literally stalked me here.”

“– then I think we might have to reconsider our definition of strangers.”

C. C. bristles. “The only reason we do this –“ his head hits the wall behind him as Ricky’s hands explore the exposed expanse of skin, “is because we’re both lonely people with a fucked up sense of morality trying to feel something. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Ricky scoffs. “No offence Tinsley, but if I wanted a therapist, I would’ve held a gun to one’s head and ordered them to give me a session.”

They don’t speak throughout the rest of it, only communicating in grunts and moans.

-

Ricky is still awake hours after C. C. fell asleep next to him. His fists are clenched tightly as he replays C. C.’s words. _Nothing more, nothing less._

Something buzzes on the bed, and Ricky looks up. It’s C. C.’s phone. He stares at it for a while until he makes up his mind. He grabs it, hacks into it, and pulls up _Contacts._ He presses the plus button at the top and enters “The Marvellous Mr G” into the name box, then his number below it.

Then he grabs his own phone and spends the rest of the night texting Francesca. When she says he’s _“got it bad”,_ Ricky turns his phone off and rolls over to try and sleep.

-

The fourth time, C. C. calls Ricky. The detective gives him a time and place before hanging up – no pleasantries, no nothing. Francesca watches with raised eyebrows as Ricky leaves without his trusted gun, but she knows not to say anything.

-

“Changed your mind about us being strangers yet? I think I’ve at least earned the ‘Bootycall’ title,” Ricky smirks as he enters the room.

C. C. kisses him hard and quick, but otherwise brushes off the question. “I don’t even know your real name.”

“Well, you haven’t exactly given me yours.”

“Touché.”

-

The fifth time is the worst.

C. C. is silent for the most part, even as they stumble backwards until they hit the edge of the bed. Even as they become intertwined.

Ricky asks what’s wrong, which is his first mistake. (Or maybe his thousandth in this whole C. C. Tinsley mess.)

“ _What’s wrong?_ I’m sleeping with a dirty criminal who has so much blood on his hands they’re stained red, and yet I call myself a _detective._ ” C. C.’s voice is laced with sarcasm and Ricky frowns. “But I didn’t come here for a breakdown. I came here for an escape, so hurry up and get back to it. We’re strangers, and strangers don’t have sob sessions.”

“Strangers have repetitive sex,” Ricky jokes, smile faker than ever.

“Exactly.”

-

For the first time since they started their arrangement, Ricky is gone before C. C. wakes up, and he doesn’t leave a note. He blocks C. C.’s number and boards the first flight to Pennsylvania. Ricky knows C. C. will be glad for his disappearance- no, he won’t even care.

After all, they’re only strangers, right?

-

Months pass, and Ricky still hasn’t forgotten the overeager Private Investigator. He tries to – oh god, _he tries._

However, it seems no pretty women nor handsome men can fill the void he feels so, so deeply. Perhaps C. C. was right about the whole “lonely people trying to feel something” because Ricky realises he’s never felt more alive than he did when he was with the detective. But it’s over now.

Ricky almost, _almost_ regrets cutting him out, until he remembers how torn C. C. was the last time he saw him. His chest aches at the sorry image. It’s more than enough for Ricky to conclude that it was the right thing to do.

-

Francesca Norris knocks on Ricky’s door during one of his _do-not-disturb_ brooding sessions. Apparently, she didn’t get the memo, because she’s vibrating with excitement, short curly hair bouncing as she does.

She beams at him, even though he doesn’t show any sign of acknowledging her presence.

“You’ll never guess what I found sleuthing about!” She practically sing-songs.

“If it’s one of our rivals or some agent, you can torture them,” Ricky sighs, not tearing his eyes away from C. C.’s fedora that he’s spinning in his hand.

“Are you sure you want me to do that?” she asks, eyes glinting behind her glasses.

Ricky finally notices her odd behaviour and looks over to her quizzically. She steps aside and everything freezes for a brief moment as the world corrects itself.

He gasps.

“C. C.?” he breathes, eyes wide as he takes in the detective’s familiar trench coat and light brown hair.

C. C. steps into the room. “It’s Shane, actually,” he replies, grinning awkwardly.

Ricky’s on his feet in an instant. He crosses the room and grabs the back of C. C.’s – _Shane’s_ – neck, yanking it down to give him a kiss. Francesca takes the opportunity to slip out of the room unnoticed, giving Shane a discreet high-five as she passes him.

When he pulls back, he places the fedora on Shane’s head and the detective grins. “Well, hello to you too, Ricky!”

“It’s Ryan, actually,” Ryan corrects, before going back to kissing him.

-

They no longer consider themselves strangers. Ryan and Shane find that they’re perfectly fine with that.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this fic you should follow my tumblr, [shanemagej](http://shanemagej.tumblr.com) ;)


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